Message

It's a throbbing compulsion. If I were an undying pillar of fire, you'd be a tea candle. I tried to explain it in what I would consider simple language last night. It ended as it always does, he called me crazy on the simple premise that he couldn't understand what I was saying. He used circular logic and continued for a couple sentences after I had ended the conversation. What a poor, sick soul. It's difficult for us to recognize our own dysfunction.

Mine is my inability to live cohesively with the world of sickness. I'm not very good at finance. I consider that a dysfunction because I should be able to live in the environment I'm placed in regardless of what it is (within limitations).

It's a throbbing compulsion. It's a flickering in the wind that demands that I do the work. A silence louder than cannon fire. It is the quake in the soil that splits the glass house. The ignorant chewing glass shards and pretending it is filet mignon. There is a wide-eyed crazyness about them. They gape at me in silence as I walk around. It is sort of terrifying to know that the world around me is literally crazy. There is a sadness in the separation, but I rest assured there is one. I don't have to live that way any more.

They look at me with this look that screams they have no idea what is going on. I read the classics in literature- over and over I hear "I think I'm alive..." as if they were grasping to quantify this experience. Every single person speaks about this and yet none are bold enough to step into the center stage with it. We hear whispers on the fringe about the "creative edge" but as soon as we try to bring it into the living room... We've created a love child of our own madness and it keeps us away from truth.

Bamford says that "I believe in the mind and it's ability to create fantasy in times of trouble"
Sing it, sister. Listen to some of her stuff and you'll get an idea of what it is like to live over the edge. Once you start stepping on the cracks you become both most and least capable. All your flaws are highlighted and your abilities heighten to frightening altitudes. Coming screaming across the stars with hair ablaze, we try to catch a glimpse of the underworld.

I live in the space between heaven and earth. One of the few who journey to the place beyond death and life and into the underworld. The overworld- glittering and sparkling and filled with wonder and here we are, shitting all over the Louvre. It is a land of quiet desperation, this planet. Honestly, I don't think we're going to make it. I think we're going to burn up in our own shadow like the people of Nagasaki. Zip line into hell sounds like the zipper of your pants.